


Until It Rains (Don’t Keep Me Waiting Too Long)

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), sdk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Astronomy, HP: EWE, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Hogwarts, Switching, implied Neville/Luna, implied Ron/Hermione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4188681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time Draco sees Harry, they’re on platform nine and three-quarters, and that last night in the Astronomy Tower feels so very far away. The first time Harry sees Draco again, it’s five years later, and that same night feels like yesterday. A story of Harry and Draco’s second (and first) chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until It Rains (Don’t Keep Me Waiting Too Long)

**Author's Note:**

> **Authors’ Notes:** We were thrilled to write with one another for this awesome fest! It's been a wonderful experience for both of us, and we hope you enjoy the story! Thanks so much to S and G for the beta!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

The last time Draco sees Potter, they're on platform nine and three-quarters. Their N.E.W.T.s are over, a load of noise and bluster that Draco couldn't bring himself to care about. Somehow he aced Muggle Studies. Of all things.

The last time Draco sees Potter, he doesn't know it's the last time. If he did, there's really no telling what he might do differently.

Although maybe nothing. Maybe he's just that much of an idiot.

He hasn't spoken to Potter since that last night on the tower. They'd just sort of got busy. That's Draco's excuse, at least. Potter did Owl him. He Owled a couple of times. But when Draco had gone to write him back, his words would jumble, his thoughts careen, his face would flush, and Blaise would be there asking him, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" and he'd just end up balling up the parchment in the end.

Not that he threw them in the bin.

One's in his pocket now, if he's honest: a well-worn, unanswered Owl, crinkling when he walks.

So it's a good thing he's not walking. He's just standing there in the train steam. Looking at Potter. And Potter is looking back at him.

"So," Potter says.

Draco swallows. He feels like a ponce in these sodding robes. Potter's not in _his_ robes. _He_ doesn't have pureblood parents waiting for him down the platform and expecting… whatever they're expecting.

Potter's got Weasleys and Grangers and Lovegoods and Longbottoms.

He's got jeans that don't quite fit him. Jeans that Draco remembers all too well, coming unbuttoned in his shaking hands. He stops himself from biting his bottom lip and clears his throat. "So."

"I imagine you'll be quite busy. This summer." Potter's hands are in his sweatshirt pocket, just that one stupid pocket in the front that isn't a secure place to keep anything.

"Yes, I'll likely have a full social schedule," Draco says. Because it's true. He just doesn't say that he wishes it wasn't.

He doesn't say that he'd more than happily quill Potter in. Several times a week. All the time.

Potter blinks and nods, looking seriously at the pavement between them.

Draco wants to tilt his face up with a finger and look into those mostly-green eyes again.

He wants to kiss him so much he has to make fists to keep from slamming Potter's back against the train itself and holding him there.

Holding him there…

"I guess I'll see you," Potter says.

Draco's heart beats faster. He rolls the balled-up parchment around in his hand. He's about to suggest Potter come for tea and biscuits, even though he's reasonably sure his father would implode on first sight of him. Maybe not biscuits then. But something. Maybe. 

Maybe they could have something.

But Potter says, "Malfoy," and he picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and then levitating his trunk and his owl cage. He starts to walk away.

"P-Potter…" Draco says. But the noise of the station is too much. Potter keeps walking. And Draco watches him. "I'll see you soon," Draco whispers.

If he'd known, maybe he would have shouted.

~

The first time Harry sees Draco again, Luna's ushering him into her back garden. She hands Draco a drink, something fruity that whizzes and bangs with a loud pop when he sniffs it cautiously. His other hand flutters up to his neck, to the open vee of his button down shirt, as if he wants to straighten a non-existent tie. He must usually wear ties, Harry thinks. Plain muggle ties with his white button-up dress shirts and his creased grey trousers.

Whenever Harry pictured running into Draco again, Draco wore long sweeping robes with a high collar, his hair slicked back and curled around his ears.

But his hair is a bit longer than it was back in school. The setting sun glints off loose white-blond strands falling into his face, before he sweeps them back with one hand and takes a delicate sip of Luna's Berry Beltane Bubble Punch.

Luna whispers something to him, and he smiles, if a bit tightly. His head tilts; Harry sucks in a breath.

_He's going to catch you staring._

"I tell you, she's interested, mate."

"What? Who—what?" Harry snaps out of his daze when Ron bumps his shoulder as he levitates a stack of firewood onto the growing pile for the bonfire.

"Luna," Ron says, as if it were obvious. "She keeps sniffing your hair, checking for nargles. That's like foreplay for her, innit?" He waggles his eyebrows and Harry laughs.

"You're mad. Besides, you know she and Neville—"

"But they're...open, or whatever. So it's perfect for you, yeah? Since you like both?"

"Sounds like she's interested in _you_ if she's telling you all about her love life."

Ron snorts. "Don't even joke about that in front of Hermione, all right? Don't fancy having a pack of canaries pecking at me all evening."

"That was ages ago. She wouldn't—"

Ron raises his eyebrows. "She wouldn't?"

"Yeah, I'll keep my mouth shut."

Harry sets his firewood down, one piece after another, onto the pile. Luna laughs, the sound ringing merrily through the garden. Harry takes a quick peek over his shoulder, but finds Ron staring at him instead.

"Did you know he was coming?"

"Who?"

Ron only needs to give him a look to let Harry know he's not fooled in the least. Harry straightens, wipes his hands on the front of his jeans, and wonders if he could possibly sneak away and do a quick Scourgify on himself. He feels a bit sweaty and sticky, even though it's been a perfectly cool and pleasant spring day.

"She invites him every year." Harry shrugs.

"Yeah, but."

"I didn't know."

Ron shifts his weight. Harry can see a dozen things Ron's dying to say, but he just shrugs as well and says, "I could use a drink. You want?"

"Yeah." Harry sighs and musters up a smile. Ron returns it. "Just not that berry thing, all right?"

"Fuck, no," Ron says with a laugh. He turns and jogs to the back door, and Harry watches as he disappears into the house.

"More wood," Harry mumbles to himself, though the bonfire looks perfectly well-stocked by now. But before he decides anything beyond that, he hears footsteps approach; the soft crunch of grass keeps him frozen in place.

It's just Luna, Harry thinks. He's always been awfully good at lying to himself.

"Potter." The voice is unmistakable, even after all these years.

It's definitely not Luna.

~

It's everything Draco can do not to run back down the stairs.

He hasn't been back on this tower since… Well, since it ruined his life.

Since they ruined it.

Since he ruined it himself.

He stands on the stairs, breath short, unable to take that last step, because the balustrade where Dumbledore went over is right there. It looks exactly the same.

Draco swallows, and the stars beyond the stone blur. The parchment in his hand with the map of the planets has begun to tremble.

And that's when someone attacks him from behind.

_POW!_

His parchment goes flying. Draco stumbles. His hand's on his wand in an instant.

"Bugger. I didn't mean—"

Then he's staring right at Potter. He’s staring at this person he's avoided since they came back – and avoided quite successfully being that the Chosen One is all anyone anywhere can look at or talk about. Draco's kept his distance.

Until right now. 

And it wasn't a spell that hit him. Draco knows full-well what that feels like, coming from Potter. No, it's just Potter himself, tripping over badly-tailored robes and falling into Draco's back.

"Watch where you're going," Draco manages, though the shaking hasn't stopped, and this is the last person in the world he wants to see it.

But Potter's picking up his dropped parchment. He's licking his lips as the rest of their class budges past them. Potter reaches out and starts to pass Draco's map back. But before Draco can accept it, it's yanked out of his hands once more, and Potter is staring at it, head tilted, frowning.

"Is this right?"

"What? Is what right?" All Draco can think is that he needs that bloody map back and Potter's not letting him have it, and his parents have instructed him to fit in, to put the past behind them, to not squander this second chance they've all been given. And yet all Draco can think to do is hex Potter right between the eyes or break the bastard's nose again, because—

"You've written here that Mercury orbits the Sun every eighty-eight days." Potter's examining Draco's map. He has no idea how close he is to getting hexed.

"Er, that's right." Draco feels a bit wrong-footed, grasping his wand like they're about to duel.

Maybe they're not about to duel.

Maybe Potter's not stealing his map.

Maybe Potter's not stealing anything.

"Huh," Potter huffs. "I had it at sixty-eight." He hands the parchment back as though it's nothing. "Must be Sinistra's barmy handwriting."

"Or your abominable note-taking skills, Potter," Draco says automatically. He stiffens.

But then Potter, the daft git, breaks into a smile. "Yeah, that's probably it, Malfoy." He shoves Draco's parchment into his chest, but it doesn't hurt.

It's just enough pressure to hold Draco there against the cold stone.

It takes only two seconds, but they're long enough. Draco takes the parchment and watches Potter school the smile off his face.

"See you, Malfoy. And, er, thanks."

Draco stands there holding his planetary map to his heart as Potter bounds the rest of the way up the stairs. Draco follows more slowly. He slips the map into the pocket of his robes, absently making his way over to his assigned telescope. Hannah Abbott, Merlin help him, waits, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Draco walks over. He only glances at Potter once and sees that he's two telescopes away with Pansy. What a raw deal. When Potter gives her a tight smile, Draco makes himself look away.

He can still feel the hot press of Potter's hand on his chest.

Draco is standing on the Astronomy Tower. 

And he's forgotten to remember what that means.

~

"Potter." 

Harry swallows before he turns around. He scratches his nails against the pad of his palm. His heart speeds up a bit. He wishes it wouldn’t do that. He feels ridiculous. 

"Hey Dra-Malfoy." 

When Harry meets Draco’s eyes, Draco looks away. He doesn’t mind, though maybe he should. Maybe he shouldn’t be so happy to be able to look his fill. Too see how Draco’s hair sweeps across his cheekbones, the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the bare skin under his open collar. Harry remembers vividly the way Draco’s skin tastes, sweet and salty on his tongue and soft as silk. 

Draco clears his throat. "Well. I just wanted to say hello." His eyes flick up to Harry’s again. 

"Good," Harry says. "I mean. Hello." 

They stand in silence. Harry wracks his brain for something to say, but he’s coming up empty and slightly panicky at that fact. He’s imagined this conversation dozens of times at least. He’d expected to run into Draco so many times—the Wizarding World isn’t that big—and yet, now that the time has come, Harry can’t remember a lick of anything. 

What had Ginny told him the first year Luna had held her bonfire? Play it cool, Harry, she’d said. You don’t wanna come off desperate, she’d said. He’d had hours of practice that night, of course. Draco hadn’t ever showed up. 

"Right, then. I think I’ll refill my glass."

"No—wait—" It’s pure instinct. Harry grabs his arm and Draco's perfectly full drink tips precariously, sloshing over his hand and spraying flecks of purple over his crisp white shirt. 

"Shit." So much for cool. "I’m sorry, let me—"

"I’ve got it. If you’ll just…?" 

"Right." Harry releases him, and with a quick wave of Draco's wand, his shirt is set to rights again. 

"Sorry," Harry says again, but Draco waves him off. 

"It’s only a bother when you’re around Muggles."

"Are you often around Muggles?" Harry smiles a little. 

"I work in the Muggle world, Potter."

"You do?" 

"You don’t have to look so surprised." 

"I’m not surprised."

"Please, as if I couldn’t tell. You expect I’m taking the piss, don’t you?"

"No—I, well…maybe a little. So. Muggles? Really?"

"Yes."

"What do you do?"

"I’m in publishing."

"Really."

"Yes, Potter, really. And you played Quidditch for two seasons, then joined the Aurors, and now are on sabbatical, if the _Prophet_ is correct, so now we’re all caught up on these banal trivialities."

"You follow my press clippings?" 

Draco colours a delightful pink and Harry bites back a smile. "I subscribe to the _Prophet_ , Potter. They’d post an article on your bowel movements if they could get away with it."

Harry laughs and it comes out deep and throaty. He can’t help but notice the pleased smile on Draco’s lips. 

"So that’s why I haven’t run into you, then."

"Why?" Draco’s smile turns slanted. Harry can’t quite read his expression, but his stomach flips over on itself. "Have you been expecting to run into me?"

"Oh, just. You know." Harry waves his hand. "Just…well, I guess you really do need a refill now, don’t you?" 

Draco wrinkles his nose. "It’s rather unique. I believe I’ve had enough."

"I brought Patronus Pale Ale. You can have one." 

"All right. Thanks." 

"Come on, then."

"I believe I can find it myself," Draco says. He nods towards Ron who, with his horrible timing, is striding over purposefully with two bottles of ale and a tight forced smile. "Enjoy the party, Potter."

Draco slips away before Harry can wish him the same. 

~

They're back ten days when Abbott gets the worst case of Dragon Pox ever recorded and Pansy informs him she's dropping Astronomy.

"Why?" Draco doesn't mean to sound desperate. He really doesn't. But he's smart enough to realise what will happen if she leaves Potter partnerless.

"Oh, darling," she sighs. "That class, forgive me, is for parchment-pushing wankers."

"I appreciate your brutal honesty."

She pats him on the arm and saunters off in the direction of Slytherins much cooler than he, Draco is certain.

He quite likes the crinkling of parchment beneath his fingers and the dart of his quill over the page, scratching out the vectors of comets, the gravitational pull of Jupiter. If that makes him a wanker… Well, he's not at all sure what he's even supposed to be anymore.

Maybe that's what he is.

And being Potter's Astronomy partner turns out to be not so bad. They haven't come to wands once since the start of term, unless you count Defence class. And really, if there's a subject with less subtext for them than Astronomy, Draco is unsure what it would be. 

Honestly, Potter seems content to let Draco do most of the work. This fact should infuriate Draco but doesn't. It seems Potter's in it mostly for the fresh air, since every time Sinistra turns her back, he's opening his robes, pulling at his tie, and leaning back so that the wind can caress his face.

Draco swallows. It's not a terrible face, up close.

Potter's jaw is sharp and usually (by the time they're in class this late) run over with dark stubble.

His hair is, obviously, horrible. But, really, it's not like it doesn't suit him.

His features, working-class rough though they tend to be, work surprisingly well for him. Some people might even call Harry Potter handsome. Even good-looking. Even fit. If one were inclined toward asymmetrical lips that—

"Have you found M31 yet?"

Draco stares at him.

Potter opens startlingly, stupidly green eyes and looks at him.

Draco realises he's been charting Potter's face and has, indeed, been staring at his mouth, but before he can stick his eye back to the telescope, he bristles. "You know, _you_ could find M31 any time, Potter."

Potter shrugs. "We've been at this for three weeks, Malfoy. We both know you're better at this stuff than I am."

This is the first time Potter has ever doled out a compliment, and for a moment, it feels entirely too good. Before Draco realises he's being deftly manipulated. What a closeted little Slytherin arsehole.

"It's a _galaxy_ ," Potter says, as if this makes perfect sense.

"You're insinuating its size should make it obvious."

Potter shrugs. Draco can see the little bit of wiry black hair beneath his throat and senses he may be on the verge of losing the plot. He clears his own throat and comes to lean against the balcony with Potter. "You do realise M31 is still quite far away from us, relatively speaking."

"And yet it's moving toward us, which is rare and seems to go against the expansion of the rest of the universe."

Draco blinks at him. He didn't realise Potter ever listened to Sinistra's lectures enough to know that. "It doesn't go _against_ it. It's just…"

"What? Our galaxies like each other?"

Draco's too close. Merlin, _why_ did he walk over here? They'd been a perfectly acceptable three feet apart. Now their arms are touching. Now he's looking into Potter's eyes. And Draco doesn't know why he thought they were green. They're iridescent… there's a hint of blue in them… specks of it… except not blue. Not blue at all. 

Azure…

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"It's getting late."

"Is it?" Belatedly, Draco notices that most of the rest of the class is already descending the stairs. "Oh."

Potter licks his lips. They shine under the light of the nearly full moon. "I'll help you find it," he says.

"Find what?" Draco answers.

Potter only smiles.

~

Dusk has come and gone, and now the only light comes from the licking orange flame of the bonfire and Luna’s fairy lights floating lazily around the edge of her garden. Harry’s only caught a glimpse or two of Draco, but it’s not as if he’s been looking for him. Harry doesn’t need to look for him. It’s as if his chest has turned into a giant Point Me spell that always helpfully pings when Draco’s standing near, when he disappears into the house, when he returns with yet another Patronus Pale Ale and politely, but firmly, eschews everyone’s company except for Luna’s. 

But when Luna calls everyone over to the bonfire, Draco quietly slips away around the other side. And before Harry can question what he’s doing, he quietly slips away after him. 

Harry finds Draco sitting at the edge of Luna’s garden, facing the forest. The stars twinkle brightly above him. His sleeves are rolled up exposing his forearms and the black curved tail of a snake darts out from under the white. He takes a swallow of his ale and licks his lips. Something in Harry’s chest snaps tight. 

"Are you just going to stand there all evening?" Draco says without looking up. Harry supposes that’s as good of an invitation as he’s going to get, and he plops down next to him, closer than he intends. But Draco doesn’t pull away. 

"So you like the ale, then?" Harry asks.

"Your ale is shit, Potter. Bottle it yourself?" Draco flashes a smile, all pearly whites in the darkness. 

"Hasn’t stopped you from drinking it," Harry says with a laugh. 

"No. Indeed it hasn’t." Draco takes another swallow then offers Harry the bottle. Harry could easily Summon his own, but he takes Draco’s offer instead and downs a healthy amount. He offers it back and Draco shakes his head. "I’ve had enough."

Luna’s soft voice trills out into the darkness, nonsense words sung in a language Harry suspects only she understands. 

"You picked a good time to get away," Harry says. He cocks his head to the fire behind them. "The dancing’s about to start." 

"Dancing?" Draco snorts quietly. "And you do this…dancing?" 

"Sometimes." Harry shrugs. He finishes Draco’s ale with another swallow and Vanishes the bottle wandless. 

Draco raises his eyebrows. "Maybe I should have stayed and watched, then. Sounds quite entertaining." 

"Ha. Ha."

Draco leans back on his hands, facing the sky. Harry mirrors him, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Draco’s profile, from the sharp slope of his nose and the curve of his chin, the way his lips are still damp with ale and the lick of his tongue. Their fingertips brush. Once again, Harry expects Draco to pull away. 

He doesn’t. 

"I’m surprised you didn’t go into Astronomy." 

"Hmm." 

"You just…you seemed to really enjoy it." Harry’s heart thuds hard against his chest. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away, following Draco's towards the sky. "You were really good at it too."

"Compared to you, you mean," Draco says quietly. 

"No. Just good. Full stop." 

"It was just a class, Potter." There’s something raw in Draco’s voice that makes Harry’s insides tangle up in a knot. "Perhaps more pleasant than others, but that’s hardly a reason to make a career out of it."

"I guess," Harry says. 

"Besides, I hardly remember anything from back then."

"That’s not true." Harry’s stomach drops. He turns to Draco again, but Draco still stares straight up resolutely. His Adam’s apple bobs once. "You remember."

"No, I don’t."

"What’s that star there?"

"What are you talking about?" 

"The bright one," Harry says. Draco’s jaw tightens. "To the west. The one you’ve been staring at. What star is it?"

All of the sudden Draco’s gaze swings to Harry and his eyes flash, hot and angry. "It’s not a star, as you very well know, Potter. It’s a planet."

Harry smiles big. His heart pounds hard and fast, and Draco’s expression turns thunderous. Harry curls his fingers into the ground to keep from curling them into Draco’s crisp white shirt, the desire nearly overwhelming. 

"What?" Draco spits. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What planet is it, Draco?" 

Draco breathes out hard. For a moment, Harry thinks he might get punched, but Draco just says, "Shut up!" His hands come to Harry’s t-shirt; he balls his fists into the cotton, knuckles pressing into Harry’s chest, and he hisses, "Just shut up." 

And Draco kisses him. 

~

"Did anyone see you?" Draco whispers.

But Potter's already working on Draco's trousers, even as he shakes his head no, the Invisibility Cloak discarded.

Draco's been hard for an hour. Maybe more. His hands shake as he works open Potter's flies. The moon is dark tonight, new and not yet risen anyway, and Draco can hardly see what he's doing. He frowns as he fumbles with Potter's jeans.

Draco doesn't wear jeans. The thick, ungainly denim and clumsy buttons are foreign against his fingers.

It's unimaginably thrilling, and Draco hates that.

He hates so much about this.

It's only when he hears Potter laugh lowly that Draco looks up.

He looks into Potter’s eyes. He sees that thing he saw the first time before they kissed.

Has seen every time before they kiss.

Draco's heart stops. And Potter hauls him in and kisses him.

It's always a push and pull – hot and hard at first, because it's been a few days. Then softer, slower, Potter's hand curling around Draco's neck – only to then gain momentum, heat, and power once more. And then they're hot and hard all over again. 

Trousers open now, the night chill is nothing compared to this fever Draco feels whenever they do this.

He touches Potter's cock, and Potter actually makes the very noise Draco successfully stifles.

"Quiet," Draco hisses against his lips.

Potter smiles, and Draco feels the shape of his lips change, feels the corner lift, the rush of breath.

"There's nobody here, Malfoy. It's two in the morning."

Then Draco can't complain, because Potter's hand is around _his_ cock and he's stupidly good at this. Just insultingly good at it. Draco hates him for it still more. Because as Potter angles them so that Draco's back is flush to the column that has become their meeting place, Draco has no choice but to lean his head back, feel the breeze along his skin, and shudder.

Then it's Draco who can't help it. Because Potter's fist closes over the head of his cock before stroking back down to the root. He keeps doing that, and the sound from Draco's throat surprises them both.

"Quiet," Potter mocks.

"Sod off." Draco quickens his hand and wants to rejoice when Potter's forehead drops to his shoulder and he starts to thrust. Draco whispers a lube charm, and Potter moans.

Draco wants to curl his hand around the back of Potter's neck like Potter did to him when they kissed.

But he doesn't. Because it would mean something different if he did it. 

Because it would mean something.

So Draco rests his free hand on Potter's pumping hip to feel the power, the will, the insistence in him that Draco has always despised.

He tilts his face up to the starry night as Potter's hand flies on his cock. Their breath goes short, and nobody's saying anything now. Draco's orgasm is _right there_ so that he wants to cry.

Potter comes first, a throaty groaning against the side of Draco's neck, two huffed breaths, another groan. Draco's hand is slick and sticky, and he doesn't want to stop touching him, is about to just cradle Potter's balls to have an excuse to keep touching him.

But Potter grasps his wrist, suddenly pins it to the stone by Draco's head, and looks Draco in the eye. He slows his hand on Draco's cock once more, and when Draco whimpers Potter smiles.

Potter always smiles before he kisses him.

Potter always kisses Draco before he comes.

He kisses Draco all the way to the whining, lightheaded end.

When it's over, Potter takes a moment before he steps back. His hand runs up onto Draco's stomach under his shirt, like Potter wants to feel him breathing. It rests there, hot on his shivering skin, for the time it takes Draco to catch his breath. They're close enough to kiss again if Draco would just tilt his head a little.

Then Potter backs away. He usually breaks the silence with a bad joke. Or he talks about class. He talks about nothing.

Draco tries to match his nonchalance. It's always a challenge when his legs feel like jelly and his heart won't quit pounding.

"So," Potter says. Potter always says 'so'.

"See you in Charms," Draco says.

"Right. Good. I mean, sure."

It's their agreement that Potter always leaves first.

Draco stays there in the dark, listening to the shuffle of shoes on stairs. 

He slides down the column and closes his eyes.

~

The moment their lips meet, the years melt away, and yet, they drive Harry’s hunger, all these years that Harry spent not kissing him. Not kissing Draco. 

What a fucking waste, he would think, if Harry could think anything at all.

The heat from the bonfire is nothing compared to the heat from Draco’s lips, opening against him, devouring him, and Draco hauls him even closer with his two fistfuls of Harry’s shirt. Harry winds his hands into Draco’s hair and cups his neck, smearing dirt and grass from the ground into his impossibly soft skin.

When Draco breaks away, panting, all harsh and hot breath, it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Harry angles his head and pushes in, but Draco presses his palms flat against Harry’s chest and whispers, "Wait." 

Their noses brush. Draco closes his eyes and pulls back and Harry’s arms fall to his sides, useless and limp. 

"I have to go," Draco says. He rises to his feet in one graceful movement. 

Harry blinks up at him. "What?" 

"It was lovely to see you again, Potter." His voice is hoarse, scratchy and thin. A streak of dirt darts over his cheekbone from Harry’s thumb. Harry struggles to his feet, preparing to give chase, but Draco just stands there, staring at him. His arms shake almost imperceptibly. 

"Where are you going?" Harry asks. 

"Home," Draco says. He blinks twice quickly. "I—I’m sorry. This was a mistake." 

He withdraws his wand. Harry's eyes widen, his stomach flips, and before he can think, he jumps close and grabs Draco’s arm just as he Disapparates. 

The next thing Harry is aware of, his head is throbbing and his stomach is all twisted in a knot, and Draco is yelling at him. 

"Bloody imbecile. You could have been splinched! _I_ could have been splinched! You stupid, reckless wanker." Draco is holding his arm, patting it down, and then he moves on to the next, firm but gentle. "Have you got all of your limbs, you twat?" 

"Yes—Christ. I’m fine. Except for my head, I’m fine." 

"What, did you leave your brain at Luna’s? Not that you had much of one in the first place," Draco says, but his hands come to Harry’s forehead, soothing his words. Cool fingertips brush along Harry’s temples, and Harry closes his eyes, breathing deep. And just like that, his headache eases. 

"Where are we?" Harry asks.

"My flat. More specifically my balcony, since you threw off my concentration with your little stunt. You’re lucky we didn’t land in the middle of the Thames."

Draco’s touch disappears and Harry opens his eyes to find him scrubbing his face. "Why did you do that?" 

"I wasn’t done," Harry says. He takes a step closer to where Draco has retreated and that’s when he sees it. It’s brass, freshly polished but obviously well-used and loved, angled up to the night sky. 

A telescope. Draco’s telescope. 

"You weren’t done?" Draco drops his hands. His tongue darts out over his lower lip. "What are you on about?"

Harry’s heart swells and his fingers go warm and tingly and he takes two more strides and grabs Draco’s waist and hauls him close. "Kissing you. I wasn’t done kissing you, you plonker."

"Potter…" Draco whispers. "This isn’t a good idea." But he takes Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in, almost as if he can’t help himself.

"You’re wrong," Harry says. "It’s the best idea."

They’re kissing again, hard and hot, and Harry’s whole body sings with how right it feels. But it doesn’t stop this time. Instead Harry goes for the buttons at Draco’s shirt, and Draco goes for the clasp of his jeans and it’s a flurry of fumbling hands and Draco’s hot wet mouth sliding against his own and he’s so hard, he’s about to burst when Draco finally gets his hand curled around Harry’s cock. 

"You’re better at that," Harry says against Draco’s lips. His hands have found skin and he maps the warm soft skin of Draco’s chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples until he hears Draco’s sharp intake of breath. 

"At this?" Draco gives him a sure stroke that makes Harry’s knees go weak. "I was always good at this."

"I meant getting my jeans open."

Draco laughs against him like it’s a surprise, and the sound is joyous to Harry’s ears. Harry kisses him again, slow and sweet and Draco’s strokes slow down, almost teasingly. 

"What do you want?" Draco breathes. His other hand curls around Harry’s neck and he nips at Harry’s lip, scraping his teeth. Harry pulls him close, trapping Draco’s hand between them. He presses their foreheads together. He breathes deep.

Harry knows exactly what he wants. What he needs. 

But all he can say is, "Draco." 

Draco pulls back. His eyes soften, though the grey goes dark like clouds right before a thunderstorm. He takes Harry’s hand and leads him inside, and for one heart-stopping moment Harry thinks he’s about to be shown the door. But Draco takes a sharp turn down the hall and opens the door to his bedroom. 

"Coming?" he says, without bothering to turn around and see. Two strides inside and his trousers drop to the floor. His crisp white shirt follows after, falling in a graceful arc to his feet. 

Harry’s on him in a flash, pressed against his back, his hands roaming over all that warm skin. His fingers trace the faint edge of the scar that zips diagonal over Draco’s chest, and Draco’s breath hitches. 

"Take off your clothes, Harry," he says. Harry breathes into Draco’s neck and smiles.

~

They're on the tower, and they're kissing, and Draco just knows: tonight is different.

He'd felt it all week. In the way he couldn't stop looking at Potter, how his thoughts would constantly stray to what they'd done, what they might do, what they'd definitely do.

In the way his duelling was for shit and his arithmancy, as well.

And now they're here, clothes askew, and the atmosphere throbs, charged, like the sky needs desperately to rain, to let go and flood everything in sight.

The air crackles now, storm clouds crowding out the stars, and Potter's got Draco's shirt open, his hands roaming slowly over Draco's chest, his shoulders, Potter's lips opening against the tender place beneath Draco's ear.

They didn't even bother to hide themselves behind the column. They're at the balustrade, in the open, and Draco can scarcely care.

Lightning erupts across the sky, a golden flash fading violet.

Potter's hands work on his belt, teeth pulling at his earlobe seductively. "What do you want?"

Draco shivers. He opens his mouth, but he can't say it – this thing that's all he can think about.

"Draco…" Potter whispers.

And Merlin, fuck, it's enough.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut tight, unable to speak. Violently, he strips his shirt off, shoves his trousers and pants down around his thighs, turns to the balustrade, and splays his hands against it. His cheeks are _burning_. Lightning strikes close, the thunder following in the next beat of his heart. But still it doesn't rain.

Potter's hands take him gently by the hips. His mouth presses kisses to Draco's back. "Yeah?" he asks.

Draco's answer is to widen his stance.

A rush of hot breath against the back of his neck. A stammered out lubrication spell. Potter's cock nudging at him. Inexpert attempts to breach him. A whispered, "Bollocks."

But then he succeeds, and Draco holds his breath because Potter is breathing hard enough for the both of them, pushing into him, driving forward until his thick cock is sheathed so very tight inside, and there are sudden tears in Draco's eyes.

It takes a long moment before he lets his breath out. The wind whips through the trees at the edge of the lake. Potter presses to his back, filling Draco up. Draco relaxes a little, and the sharp edge of pain changes to something like a wonderful, deep burn – a creeping need for something even more.

"Yes," Draco hears himself say, and it comes out of him rough and ragged, unrefined. So simple and vulgar.

Potter pulls out a little and then thrusts back in. Draco's eyes roll shut. Lightning pops against his eyelids, then Potter is fucking him. Draco's hands tighten on the stone. They rock together, Draco's head falling back onto Potter's shoulder.

Potter's mouth finds his ear again. "Oh my god," he sighs. His hands slip under Draco's arms and cup his shoulders for leverage. Draco relaxes into it as much as possible, and it feels better than he can admit to himself in the quiet of his own secret heart.

~

"Like this," Harry says. He pushes Draco’s hand off his cock and guides him down as he spreads his thighs wider. With a whispered spell, Harry slicks Draco's fingers. One circles around his entrance, fleetingly, hesitantly, and Harry drops his head back onto the pillow and lifts his hips. "I want it like this."

"Are you sure?" Draco bites his lip. He stares down between Harry’s thighs, and for a minute, he looks all of eighteen again, nervous, unsure, excited…hard, throbbing. Harry touches Draco's wrist, brushing fingers over his pulse point, over impossibly soft skin and the jut of his bones. Draco’s eyes flicker to Harry’s and he pushes a finger inside. 

"More than," Harry says. He’s trembling with anticipation already, bucking into Draco’s slow rhythm, but it’s not enough. Not nearly. "I don’t need much prep—I want to feel it when you fuck me."

Draco’s cock twitches and he sucks in a breath. "I just thought—we always…well, it was just the once, but you—I thought you’d want to—" 

"You’re babbling," Harry says, lips twitching into a smile. 

Draco glares at him, pushes another finger in and fucks in hard, muttering, "Shut it, Potter." 

"Make me," Harry breathes. He rolls his hips into Draco’s thrust, already breathing a little harder; his skin feels like fire. Draco leans down; his fingers slip free and Harry only has a moment to feel empty before the blunt head of Draco’s cock presses up against him. 

Harry curls his fingers into Draco’s hair. Draco’s eyes meet his, searching but somehow so still.

"It should have been more than just the once," Harry says. 

Draco thrusts inside in one slow smooth stroke and Harry can feel him everywhere. His head drops to Harry’s neck, hands grasping his shoulder, his hip, squeezing hard before he withdraws and thrusts in again. His lips graze over Harry’s skin, at his throat, and Harry feels him breathe, "Yeah."

~

Thunder rumbles through the castle. Dark clouds race across the sky.

"What is that?" Potter pants behind his ear.

"What is— what?" Draco stammers out.

"That."

Draco blinks eyes that have gone heavy-lidded from arousal. The clouds have parted to reveal a bright, shining light between them. Potter thrusts hard, a choked groan vibrating against Draco’s skin. Draco feels too good not to smile. "That's Venus, you idiot."

"Oh. Right. Venus." Potter mouths the words at the shell of Draco’s ear, his hand slipping onto Draco’s stomach.

"Potter…" Draco sighs. The clouds close and block out Venus’ light once more, and Draco shuts his eyes. He meets Potter’s thrusts, biting his lip to keep from whimpering.

Potter kisses his neck, fucking a little faster. "Can I… come?" he asks disarmingly. 

Draco shifts his hands on the balustrade, bracing his left in the middle and dropping his right to his own cock. "After me," he says.

Potter laughs. He's inside Draco, and he's laughing. He rests his forehead in the middle of Draco's back, hands descending to grasp his hips, and they race to the end like they’ve just caught sight of the Snitch.

Draco watches his spunk strike stone and feels how he tightens around Potter's cock. He gulps back the name that almost gasps from between his lips.

Potter makes no such concessions, turning his cheek to Draco's back and crying, "Draco… fuck… God… Draco…" 

Draco shivers and squeezes down around him once more – just to see if he'll say it again.

He does.

The clouds pass. Venus once again shines down on them, bright as the moon. Potter slips out. They separate.

When Draco's pulling up his trousers, all he can think about is how being indescribably manky is possibly the best feeling ever. He's turning to Potter with a smile on his face and a quip on his lips when the steps on the stairs stop everything.

"Shit," Potter whispers. Their gazes lock for that instant.

And then it all happens so fast: Potter disappearing under the cloak; Draco snatching up his shirt and hiding behind the column to dress; Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne tripping over themselves and laughing, clearly pissed and still passing the Firewhisky between them.

Once Draco has put himself back together, he decides he'll act like he's been there alone the whole time. Maybe Potter's on the stairs waiting for him. Maybe they can find a place to kiss once more.

Five minutes playing blasé with his friends and Draco descends the stairs, feeling for Potter the whole way.

But he's not there.

And Draco feels a bit like a fool, blindly groping at shadows. Potter certainly wouldn't want to wait through Pansy's Hogsmeade stories or Blaise and Daphne arguing over the best hex to use on unsuspecting Hufflepuffs. 

Draco clears his throat and stops feeling along the walls. Potter'd be back in his dormitory by now, hanging out with his own friends. It's not like one more snog is in any way necessary. Not for Draco either. He's fine without it.

Draco straightens his clothes, lifts his chin, and proceeds to turn the wrong way three times on his way back, thinking about Potter's hands, Potter's mouth, Potter's cock.

Somehow he runs into Luna Lovegood around two of his wrong turns. She just smiles and tells him, "You're only lost if you have a destination." She says this both times.

A destination. His dormitory, his life, his sanity.

 _Potter, Potter, Potter, bloody Potter…_ As the thunder fades into the distance, traveling on, no rain to be had. 

~

Harry opens his eyes to an empty bed, the faint trace of sandalwood on the pillow next to him. He rolls over into the lingering warmth and presses his face into Draco’s pillow before he’s fully awake, and a piece of parchment crinkles against his face. 

_I’ve work. Coffee’s on the balcony.  
-D_

He rubs his eyes and reads the note again. The message hasn’t changed. Harry ducks his head, smiles to himself, and folds the note carefully before placing it on the nightstand. 

It’s short work to find his jeans and t-shirt on the floor and pull them on, then Harry follows the smell of freshly brewed coffee, padding slowly through the flat as he’s still sore in the most pleasant of ways. He finds the balcony doors thrown open, welcoming him to a foggy grey morning, a sky full of thundering clouds, and Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall next to his telescope watching them.

He wears a fresh white button-up and creased grey slacks, a blue tie draped around his neck, undone and fluttering in the breeze. One hand is sunk into a pocket, while the other holds a steaming mug.

Behind him, at the little table, sits a French Press, an empty mug beside it, clearly waiting for Harry. 

Harry watches Draco take a savouring sip before he turns and sees him. Draco doesn't so much startle as pause. His gaze rakes over Harry quickly but in a way that makes Harry feel all the places on his body Draco touched the night before. He sets his coffee on the table.

"Thought you had work," Harry says.

"It’s going to rain." Draco takes two steps closer. "I’ve decided to be late."

Harry inhales that same warm sandalwood from Draco's pillow. "Because of the rain?" he asks.

Draco blinks. In one moment he's looking into Harry's eyes, and in the next he's looking at his lips. Draco's hand fits itself up against Harry's hip, strong fingers slowly grasping. When Harry takes another step into him, putting them so close their bodies brush, Draco's hand slides around to Harry's lower back, and he kisses him.

Draco tastes like expensive Muggle coffee. Harry wishes he'd thought to clean his teeth before he came out on the balcony. But Draco doesn't seem to care. In fact, he tilts his head, kisses Harry deeper, and Harry feels the sure and steady rise of Draco's cock against his thigh.

From somewhere not terribly far away, there is a rumble of thunder. A drop of rain strikes Harry on the shoulder. Another hits the back of his hand where he's wrapped it behind Draco's neck. Draco's hands grasp and pull him closer as the rain begins in earnest. 

They kiss until the thunder nears so that it shakes the glass in the window panes. They kiss until they're soaked to the skin and Harry thinks maybe Draco ought to call in sick altogether. It occurs to him that maybe Draco's not stopping kissing him for the same reasons Harry doesn't want him to: because they're trying to make up for lost time. Or maybe just because, after all this time, it's still so bloody good.

Whatever the case, they kiss until Draco breaks away, gasping. Until Harry looks into his dilated eyes, rain water dripping from the hair that hangs in his face, and he can't help but smile at what he sees there. 

Until Draco takes Harry's hand in his own, returns the smile, and starts to pull him back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave your comments here or on [LiveJournal.](http://hd-collab.livejournal.com/4923.html) :)


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